


feet first, don't fall.

by blxxm



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, Second POV, a+ one liners brought to you by chloe price, i suddenly became victoria/max trash overnight and this is how i deal with it, if you like that sign the hell up for a wild ride, legit all this is about is queer girls doing queer things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-24 03:04:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4903108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blxxm/pseuds/blxxm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You stay still, wanting to charge forward, to go slow, hard, soft, you want absolutely everything and nothing and anything.<br/>You just want Victoria, plain and simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	feet first, don't fall.

**Author's Note:**

> I fell head first into Chasefield trash and I apologise.

The first time you laid eyes on Victoria Chase, she was balancing a ping pong ball on her forehead while trying not to spill her drink. There were no fireworks, no butterflies in your tummy, no electrical thrill down your spine.

Honestly, you thought she looked like an idiot.

Which is exactly what made you space out from whatever Chloe was hollering about, from Rachel’s laughs, from everything, really.

She was just so – dumb.

You had heard of her before – Victoria: the slick, educated enigma of Blackwell, the classic tale of beauty and brains and riches you thought only existed in Disney. And yet, it does not compare to the complete and utter paradox she is when the ball falls from her forehead and she rushes forward to save it, when the drink is forgotten and her wrist goes limp with lack of care.

When she dives headfirst into the skin between your neck and shoulder, squeal muffled as the ball rolls down your back and into the sink behind you, bounces three times before you can feel her breath on your neck and teeth chattering against your skin in an apology.

It burns where she talks into you, goosebumps and – yep, there are the tingles. You’re a complete mess, too drunk to understand the lightning speed of her mouth as she drawls out long stringed apologies and introductions.

You kind of want to take a photo, see if the Polaroid of her mouth is as blurred as your eyes perceive.

By the time she’s finished talking Chloe is elbowing you in the ribs, and you forget your own name so you just smile and hope that’s enough.

“Again, I’m so sorry,” her palms are sweaty when she grabs your hands, thumbs loose on your knuckles as you look up at her through hooded lashes. You watch her swallow before listening. “Really, I can buy you a new shirt, or wash that one – whatever you want.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” You shake your head, gain some composure. The liquor is warm on your chest, just a small stain. “I’m not attached to the shirt or anything, really, you don’t have to look like a puppy anymore.”

Her mouth turns thin, lips rolled between teeth before she nods. Her hands let go of yours, and you try to be subtle about wiping them on your jeans.

“You’re Victoria, right?” It’s Rachel who breaks the silence, and you watch the girl in front of you light up at being recognised, as if it doesn’t happen all the time.

“Yeah, and you’re Rachel.” Victoria flicks the fringe from her eyes – blue, really, really blue eyes. “Didn’t you go missing last year?”

Rachel laughs, twirls a dyed section of hair through her fingers before wrapping an arm around Chloe. “You go on one roadtrip with your girlfriend without telling your parents, and suddenly you’re a police case.”

You watch Chloe’s ears turn red, coughing as she turns her head away from the three of you. You smile.

“That must mean you’re Chloe, then, infamous blue haired toke of Blackwell.” She waits for Chloe to nod, self satisfied smirk on her face – you’ll give her credit, you wouldn’t be able to name anyone here, let alone while drunk. Her eyes settle on you, gaze raking over your face and you feel like you’re being assessed, sized up – devoured. “And that makes you Max, the freckly spitfire with the camera.”

You nod, don’t mention that you have four out of six classes with her. Or that your dorms are across from one another. Or that you can hear her music through the walls sometimes, what she claims to be ‘indie trash’ during the day clearly not being classified as such after midnight.

Instead, you just say, “nice to finally meet you”, and she sways on the spot before poking your cheek and telling you that your nose is cute.

You feel your neck flush and you know she’s grinning so you don’t look at her until you can breathe properly again.

“Anyway, I must be getting back to my game,” without shame or the grace she usually exudes, she steps into your space, chest pressed against yours and you can feel the alcohol stick to your sternum. Her left arm pins you to the spot, elbow resting on your shoulder as her right dips around your waist. She emerges triumphant, ping pong ball in hand and you swear you feel her teeth on your earlobe for a split second. “It was great meeting you all.”

“Ditto,” Rachel speaks for all three of you, Chloe too busy trying to hold in her laughter, and you trying to hold in the gay. She pokes Chloe in the side, and you thank her by pushing your shoulders together. “See you around.”

Victoria’s eyes train on you, lips curling as she says, “I’d count on it.”

You sigh when her back turns to you, all but falling against the bench top, funny bone hitting the sink’s tap and you swear under your breath.

Chloe is chanting a mantra of ‘ _Max you magic homo_ ’ lowly while Rachel shakes her head. You rub the bone until the skin turns red, until Rachel takes Chloe out for some air, until Kate wanders up to you from where she was sitting two rooms away with Warren and asks you if you’re okay.

And you want to say you’re okay, that your arm doesn’t still hum and that you can’t breathe properly and that Victoria Chase hadn’t just drunkenly rubbed up on you without realising and that you’re stuck here – awestruck by her existence when all she did was spill a drink on you and introduce herself.

So you groan, you bury your head in Kate’s shoulder and continue to make vague sounds you know she can translate.

You feel Kate’s neck crane, hear her make a noise of understanding before she pats you on the back.

“She is quite pretty, isn’t she?”

Yeah, Kate gets it.

 

* * *

 

The next time you see Victoria is the morning after the party, ridden with bed hair and a toothbrush sticking out of her mouth.

You’d just gotten out of the shower, towel wrapped around you and no makeup in sight. You’re sure you look just as bad she she’s feeling, but she musters up a half assed foamy smile and you can’t resist shooting her a grin through the mirror.

You take your own toothbrush out, concentrate hard to get the right amount of paste on before rinsing it under the water three times. Victoria watches out of the corner of her eye, but doesn’t say anything, and you’re grateful.

You don’t take your eyes off the sink until you’re finished, and when you look back up Victoria is brushing her nest of hair and you’re fighting back a smile.

“You look much too chipper.” She notes, face scrunching as she snags a knot.

You shrug, “Some of us don’t get plastered on beer pong alone, you know.”

“Rude,” she grunts, that knot looked like it hurt. “But correct. Sorry for my dismal excuse of an introduction last night, if I’m remembering it right, I pretty much fell into your lap.”

You swallow, count to two. “Something like that. But it’s not as bad as you think, you got all our names right.”

She puts the brush down, picks up her towel – dry, she mustn’t have showered yet.

Don’t think about that.

“Please tell me I at least won the game,” she rests the towel on her hip; you pretend not to notice the freckle under the rise of her shirt. “I don’t think I can let Nathan hold another drunken act over my head.”

You don’t ask what she means, assumes she makes a fool of herself a lot. You didn’t even stick around for the game; couldn’t deal with watching her fingers curl and the tendons in her neck strain each time she threw.

“I’d say you did, you were pretty confident out there.”

She brightens, starts walking backwards towards the stall. “Confidence is key, Maxine. Stick around and you might learn that.”

You nod, gather your things and leave before you can hear any of her clothes hit the floor.

 

* * *

 

 Chloe doesn’t let you hear the end of it, teases you all throughout the one class you share together – even ignores Warren’s pleas for answers to the homework.

“C’mon Mad Max, you can’t deny you’ve already got it _bad_ for this girl.”

You turn away from her, try to make sense of what’s written on the board but it’s no use, Chloe is nudging your side like a true best friend and your gears are getting grinded, what more can you ask for.

“She’s cute, Chloe, but that’s it – that’s all I know about her.”

Warren leans back in his chair, angling his head towards the two of you.

“You know, Max, maybe if you – I don’t know – tried to actually get to know her.”

“Excellent suggestion from the heterosexual, I’m completely with him.” Chloe is almost bouncing in her seat, giddy to wingman. “Say the word and I’ll pick her lock, I’ll go through everything if you’re too anxious to get your shit together and ask her out.”

“Oh my god, no, okay.” You shake your head, wonder when exactly your friends decided to sync their idiocy. “It’s not – she wouldn’t – look. She’s like, a solid eleven, and I’m a three in good lighting.”

Chloe pinches the inside of your arm, you fight back a squeal.

“Max, do you not remember the frames in time where both Warren and myself crushed on your wiry little ass?”

“Can always count on you to rehash that, Chloe, thanks.” Warren tears a piece of paper from his book, folds it absentmindedly as he continues. “Look, the point is, you’re totally _not_ a three. And just because Victoria has this whole,” he waves his hand, “perfection thing going on, doesn’t mean you aren’t any less of a hot tamale.”

“Okay, but,” you sigh into your hands, not understanding when this drunken infatuation with Victoria became a sober crush (you know it was the bathroom, of course it was the bathroom). “How do you even, like, get to know someone like her? She’s all closed off and shit when there’s other people around.”

“Duh,” Chloe says, waggles her eyebrows. “You get her alone.”

“She’s right,” Warren shrugs. “That’s how it worked with Brooke and me.”

Running out of options, you go for the petty. “It’s Brooke and I, dweeb, lucky you’re a science major.”

“Low blow,” he feigns hurt, hand on his chest. “Really though, do you have any classes with her?”

You fight back a snort. “Just about all of them.”

“Then, it’s settled.” He says, eyeing Chloe, who catches on immediately.

“You need a tutor.”

 

* * *

 

You’re sitting in photography a week later and the principal is standing at the front of the room, he’s talking, saying something about your teacher being fired for reasons that do not concern the student body and that your replacement will be coming in soon.

Until then, however, you have an assignment. One that you actually have no idea how to go about.

“I’m sorry that I will not be of any assistance to any of you during this project,” he says, the lines on his face weary and deep. “But you’re all capable of doing this, ask your peers for help if you need – just, capture the moment that best fits your ideas. You’re all dismissed, but please do try to work on this during the period.”

You’re still sitting when he leaves and the other students are packing up. This is the most clueless you’ve ever been on an assignment, and whether that’s because you have no teacher to help explain or because you spent the whole time staring at the profile of Victoria’s face, you’re not sure.

“You okay, Max?”

You turn your head, settle your eyes on Kate and you’re sure your eyes are cloudy when you nod.

“Yeah, Kate, I’m,” you watch her fingers rub nervously over the cross around her neck; you don’t want to worry her. You set your lips to a thin line, nod again. “I’m okay, just stressed about the project but I’ll be fine. Promise.”

“Okay, good,” she gathers her books into her arms, puts her hand on your shoulder before walking away. “See you later.”

“See you,” your hand goes up into a wave she can’t see, so you slump it back down onto the table. You stare at the blackboard, read the harsh white lines of the principal’s handwriting and remain completely dumbfounded. “Fuck.”

You hear a tongue click across the room, heeled feet walking towards you. “Such language, Maxine.”

A wry smile makes its way onto your face, you hadn’t realised she hung around.

“Please, like you’ve never heard it before.”

Victoria takes a seat across from you, eyes deadpanned. “I’ll have you know that I am a pure child of God, thank you.”

You snort; don’t even bother to create a comeback because in an instant Victoria is laughing much the same as you are.

“So, how do you think you’ll do on this assignment?”

“Honestly?” Victoria leans into her hands, chin resting and the light catches her hair and you think she might just be ethereal. “I think I’m going to shit it in.”

“That confident, huh?”

She shrugs, “You’d be surprised at what knowledge I have of random crap.”

“Teach me your ways, O’ Wise One.”

She shakes her head, laughs under her breath. “Are you really asking for my help, Max?”

You think back to Chloe’s suggestion, think that maybe this is like, the slightest chance you’re going to get so you try to make it convincing.

“To avoid handing in another assignment late?” You smile, raise your eyebrows in challenge. “You bet.”

“Well, you do have a knack for handing things in late.” There’s a crease in her forehead and you know she’s faking it and that you’ve already sold her but you wait patiently with a thumping heart and shaky hands. “Alright, you’ve got me. Meet me in my dorm after dinner, we’ll go over some stuff.”

You watch her pick up her books, poised and dainty and so very Victoria.

“What if I’m truly hopeless and don’t get anything accomplished?”

Victoria turns from where she stands, spins on her heel to face you.

“Then I guess we’ll have to keep working at it until you’re just as masterful as me.”

You blink, breath caught in your chest and she’s gone within seconds.

Holy shit, you need to tell Chloe.

 

\--

 

Chloe brings takeout to your room, says the dining hall would waste time and that this was safer and more efficient. She has Rachel on loudspeaker to have a tag team pep talk – Rachel is kind, gives encouraging words and makes you feel a little less insecure.

Chloe, on the other hand, well, she focused on making you the hottest you can be while also forcing Chow Mein down your throat.

Smoky eye was the designated choice from her, but Rachel pulled her up quick and fast, saying that BB cream and powder would be enough, maybe a little mascara. You make a whipping sound as Chloe picks up the brush, and she pokes her tongue out at you.

The makeup is chilled and foreign against your skin, and you try to argue that Victoria has already seen you with nothing covering you but a towel – but that earns nothing more than some dirty jokes from Chloe and giggles from Rachel so you give up and wait with your fists balled at your sides.

“Alright, babe, she’s looking a million bucks.” Chloe hollers into the phone when she’s finished, the two of you sitting on the floor, Rachel’s presence somewhere on your duvet. “Now what?”

“ _Now, she brushes her teeth, grabs some gum and hopes that she’s a good flirt and great with her hands and tongue._ ”

You flush, bringing your knees to your chest. Chloe chastises Rachel, thanks her for her help, says goodbye for the both of you before hanging up.

“Okay,” Chloe rubs her hands together, makeup smudging her skin but she’s smiling and her eyes are bright and full of ideas. “Now for the real prep.”

You raise your brows, “That wasn’t it?”

“Not the important bit.” She sits in front of you, pockets her phone. Her hands bring your knees down and she’s looking at you like she did when you were kids, playing pirates with cardboard boxes of treasure. “Max, you’ve got this.”

“Gee, great chat.”

“Shut up, hipster, I’m not done.” She flicks your forehead, rubs the spot afterwards and its soothing. “You are not a loser, you’re not a freak, you’re definitely a solid nine in good lighting, and Victoria would be the dumbest person in the history of time if she doesn’t think you’re a hella piece of ass worth every moment that you’re in that dorm with her.”

“Chloe, I−”

“Now, let’s forget this talk ever happened, because sappy shit never happens between us.” She holds her pinkie out, hooks it between yours. “Just remember to not be such a mouth-breather, and that if it doesn’t go well, we’ve all still got your back. And hey, if it does goes well, we can triple date with Warren and Brooke and make Joyce cook us some killer waffles.”

You laugh. Chloe leads you out of the room, slaps your butt as you go your separate ways and you get a text seconds later from Warren saying, “go get ‘em, tiger”.

 

\--

 

You took some of Rachel’s advice, hoping Victoria doesn’t mind the smell of strawberry gum, (personally, you prefer grape but this was all you had in your drawers and you guess it’s better than nothing.)

You knock three times before shuffling on your feet. You hear Victoria in her room, heavy thudding footsteps you wouldn’t expect her to use outside of her dorm, rushed curses as you hear her scramble.

Her cheeks are rose-red when she answers the door, collared shirt pushed slightly to the side and you try not to notice the edge of her collarbone.

“Max, hey.”

“Hi,” you sound out of breath, like an idiot. But Victoria opens her door wider and gestures that you come in and you can’t stop the small “wow” that comes out of your mouth when you see her room.

It’s so much nicer than yours, is your first thought. The second is that, surprise, Victoria Chase is a total symmetry nut.

You don’t know what to do so you stand awkwardly in the middle of her room, notice the only thing out of place is scattered notes across her ottoman and haphazard photos surrounding them.

She grips at your hand loosely, fingers sliding over yours as she sits cross legged on the ground. You follow suit, knees bumping hers before you rear up an inch.

Her hand grasps at a page of notes, bringing it to the middle ground between you. You didn’t know there was enough room for a horizontal piece of paper to come between you; it had felt like so much less, so much more.

“So, the assignment is all about projecting and understanding the lore of Greek mythology.”

“Which I still don’t understand, how does it relate to photography?”

“Well, I guess the whole point is that it doesn’t.” She shrugs, turns the paper to face you. “I jotted down some ideas, just some myths I know off the top of my head, some gods, demigods, whatnot mumbo jumbo.”

You stare, there are scribbles of oranges and pinks and blues all over the page, twined and crossed and cursive and you could never have pinned her for a mythology nerd. A closeted anime fan, maybe, but this took the cake.

“I didn’t know you were so into this.”

“It’s not a big deal, really,” she says, snatches the paper and grabs a photo. “I was a bit of a nerd in middle school, puberty hadn’t hit yet and my parents were always flying around. Mythology was just kinda _there_ , you know? Like, it passed the time – and it’s sort of cool, I guess.”

You nod, understanding. Her hands are shaky over the photo and you can tell that she’s nervous but you’re not sure if it’s for the same reason as you.

You figure it’s too early to ask.

“What’s the picture of?” You ask, hand hovering over hers.

“This,” her finger glides over the glossed photo, delicate and soft and you wonder why it deserves such attention. “This is Eros. He’s the Greek god of desire, hence the next picture.”

You follow her eyes towards the next picture in sequence, nothing more than hands on shoulders and teeth on skin, your blood runs warm.

“Is Eros your favourite god?”

She laughs, shakes her head. “God, no. He’s just a really good fallback for the assignment if I can’t think of something else, he’s so easy to capture.”

“Because teenagers full of lust are literally all around us to photograph?”

She taps her nose, “Exactly.”

“Who is your favourite, then?”

She thinks about it, like, _really_ thinks. There’s a dent between her eyebrows that you’ve only ever seen in class, her nose is scrunched at the end and there’s a bop in her cheek that you assumed belonged to her tongue.

“Anteros.”

“Didn’t you just say that guy’s name?”

She shakes her head, “Nah, Anteros is Eros’ brother. He’s the god of returned love, requited love – complete, I guess. He was a gift to Eros, because he was lonely. The whole point of Anteros is that when love is called for, he can answer, wholly.”

“And here I was thinking you were going to say Tempest.”

A small smile drawls her face. “That’s a demon from _Charmed_ ,” she deadpans, you rear back – clearly your supreme knowledge only went as far as paraphernalia of the nineties. “Which, I didn’t know you watched.”

You pick at a piece of fluff on the carpet, notice that Victoria is watching your hands.

“It’s not exactly something someone brings up in conversation, being a total geek only gets you so far.”

“Oh come on,” her hand covers yours. You drop the fluff, allow yourself to feel the heat of her hand and try not to breathe heavily. “You’re really not as bad as you think.”

You don’t – can’t – look up. “No?”

“Of course not,” her eyes are on yours, bright and dark and cloudy and you want to look away but she follows, keeps the contact and you’re having trouble remembering what it is you were even talking about. “Max, believe it or not, you’re actually kind of cool.”

You shake your head. This isn’t happening, this can’t be happening.”

You really try to not focus on her mouth, but your eyes drop every time she utters a new syllable and you’re so completely and totally sunk because you’re watching her lips shape into what is surely another compliment and all you can fathom is to kiss her.

But you don’t.

You stay still, wait until she finishes talking first. Honesty, you’d always thought, is the key.

“Victoria,” you start, mouth dry. You lick your lips, watch her nod. “I’m going to be real with you, I have no idea what you just said – and I’m sorry for that because it was probably really sweet and nice but, I was sort of just staring at you because you have, like, a really pretty face and your eyes are really nice and I kind of really want to kiss you right now.”

She flinches, and you feel really bad, because maybe – definitely – that was not the right thing to say and maybe you shouldn’t have been so forthright because she’s looking at you like a whole new person and you feel yourself begin to shake.

But she breaks out into a smile and laughs under her breath, and okay, now you think you might be offended.

“You want to kiss me,” she repeats. You look down, put your hand on the ottoman to get up and leave because laughing is really not the ideal reaction. Her fingers clamp onto your forearm, drag you back down. “No, Max – god, I could’ve dealt with that better. I’m shocked, is all.”

“Why?”

She takes her bottom lip between her teeth and – shit, okay, that’s incredible.

“Because,” her fingers skid down your arm, goosebumps raised, finishing at the tips of your fingers as she plays with them. “It took you a while; I thought the whole grinding up on you to get a stupid ping pong ball was a strong enough message.”

“Forgive me, but it’s not something that happens all that often.”

“Not something I try often, either.” There’s a smirk on her face, lips curled and you’re trying so hard not to just lean forward. “Though, I might from now on, it seems to work well.”

You feel the heat rise to your cheeks, tap at her fingers with yours. “Shut up.”

There’s a challenge in her eyes, her legs uncrossing as she leans them to lie flat, feet swaying idly, back pressed against the ottoman.

“Make me.”

Fuck, okay.

You press upwards, onto your knees before inching onto your hands. You hate the idea of crawling towards someone, of being so primal, but your hands are either side of Victoria’s legs and you’re straddling her thigh with her breath ghosting over your lips and you wonder why you’d never loved the idea before now.

You stay still, wanting to charge forward, to go slow, hard, soft, you want absolutely everything and nothing and anything.

You just want Victoria, plain and simple.

You hear her whine faintly, sound clawing its way through your ears and settling somewhere in your chest.

Her hands are in your hair but she doesn’t pull you in, holds you in place like she’s worried you’re going to leave. She’s still for a moment, and you feel a shudder wrack through her before she’s closing her eyes and resting her forehead against yours.

“You’re undeniably and irrevocably astounding, Maxine,” she whispers, eyelashes fluttering against yours. You close your eyes, breathe her in. “That’s what you ignored me saying before.”

You don’t have the heart to tell her that she’s wrong because her hands are leaving your hair and cupping your face, and you’re opening your eyes and seeing the way she looks at you and she’s just so damn sure of herself and her words, and you start to believe her.

“I want to go slow,” you say, your hands resting on her waist, thumbs rolling circles into the fabric of her shirt. “I really want to kiss you, but I want everything to fall into place first.”

She nods against you, presses her lips to your forehead.

 “I do, too.”

You don’t ask her the burning questions in your mind, you don’t ask her if she believes it will fall into place, you don’t ask if she can wait for as long as it takes, you don’t ask why she bothers to be attracted to you, you don’t ask if she’ll run away when she finds out about your disability (you hate calling it that, because you don’t think it’s that bad, but you’re sure that your parents won’t call it anything else.)

You just stay in her lap, move your head to nudge between her jaw and shoulder, feel her pulse against your cheek and her hands playing with your hair and you’re sure she can feel your heartbeat and your shaky breathing.

You feel like you could die right here, right now, with the sun setting through the blinds, casting lines across the two of you, shadows and light dancing between you and you don’t even notice because Victoria is warm and she is kind and she is so, so beautiful.

 

* * *

 

It’s the day after whatever the fuck you want to call what happened between you and Victoria that you sit across from Chloe in a booth, the leather is warm against your thighs and you sort of regret wearing jeans because Chloe slamming her drink down in excitement is only making you flush more.

Soda spills from the side of her cup, and you hear Joyce tell Chloe that she needs to clean that up but she ignores her, clasps her hands together and you wish Rachel were here to calm her down.

“You did it, dude – well, I mean, not really. But you said something, and that’s more than we expected.”

Her voice is loud, booming. She bounces in her seat and it’s the youngest you’ve seen her look in years. The hard lines of her face don’t exist – something you thought only happened when Rachel was around – her eyes are bright and if this is all it took for her to forget how broken she is for a moment you would’ve kissed Victoria the second she collapsed into you.

“Yes, I told her how I feel – sort of.” You let your head sink between your shoulders, drop your voice lower. “But will you please shut up now before you scare all the customers away.”

“Fuck the customers,” she waves her hand, picks up her drink and takes a sip. “You grew a pair, my little girl is growing up.”

You push her face when she gets close, stick your tongue out in fake disgust. She laughs, presses a sloppy kiss to your cheek and takes her phone out and you just know she’s firing a message to the group chat you have with the others.

A few seconds later, you feel your phone vibrate and laugh. Chloe looks at you over the straw in her mouth, smiles innocently and you don’t even bother to start being mad at her.

“So, now for the real question,” hair falls in her face, she pushes it back to look you in the eyes. “When are you two gonna bang?”

“Chloe, oh my god.”

 

* * *

 

You’re not exactly sure what ‘slow’ means to Victoria but you’re guessing it might mean something akin to the top speed of the first locomotive because she’s barely talked to you outside of class and the music in her dorm is even louder at night now – more indie rock, slower, dragging on and sometimes you think you hear her voice singing along but you’re never sure.

You decide that maybe it’s something you should talk about, considering you sat in her lap a week ago and now she won’t even look you in the eye.

So, you do. You wait until the consensus time of lights out throughout the campus, wait until Chloe’s step-douche has stopped patrolling outside the dorms and head over across the hall.

You’re in your pyjamas, but they’re your nicest ones so you try to act nonchalant when she answers the door in most definite spring collection of Peter Alexander and you find it hard to breathe.

“Hey,” she says, and its soft and its reverent and you want to hug her but you can’t even move.

“Can I, uh,” you clear your throat, run a hand through your hair. “Can I come in?”

She opens the door wide enough for you to slip in, her music cocooning you and you notice that it’s not even from an iDoc, it’s from a record player and of course Victoria Chase is also closeted hipster trash.

She turns the volume down, doesn’t turn it off and you find your fingers tapping along to Arctic Monkeys on the skin of your thigh.

“What’s up, Max?” She asks, walks over to her desk and leans against it.

“I wanted to talk,” you watch her, completely enamoured as she slinks down onto the desk, feet kicking out as if this wasn’t a pending and serious conversation. “You know, about – us?”

“Okay,” she says after half a verse, and you watch the hesitance in her eyes follow across her whole face. “I’m assuming you wanted to start, then?”

No, not really – not at all. You wanted to dive out the window, run out the door, you wanted to avoid this entire situation and hope that she’ll forget you ever said you wanted to kiss her because you’re an idiot.

“Alright,” you stay put, wanted to sit somewhere, maybe on the bed or the ottoman or even her lap again but you don’t move. “I think we need to figure out where we stand with each other, you know?”

She nods, lips thin and thinking and you wring your hands together to stop them from shaking.

“I’m sorry that I’ve been distant,” she gets up from the desk, walks three steps until she’s in front of you. She’s still an arm’s length away, but it’s something. “It’s a really bad habit of mine when it comes to stuff like this, and I know that that’s no excuse for how I’ve been behaving but – yeah, I’m sorry.”

You look down, see she’s wearing odd socks, and smile.

“Why?” You ask, and it comes off harsh and you shake your head and close your eyes. “Why do you act like this?”

She takes a step forward, and you watch her fingers twitch and you wonder if she aches to reach out as much as you do.

“Because I’m worried that you’re just going to – to leave.” Her voice cracks and your eyes widen. “Because you’re so – so _good_. And I’m not, and you deserve better and I don’t deserve someone like you no matter how badly I want you.”

You laugh, actually genuinely laugh and you reach out for her finally, take her hands in yours and hold them between you.

“Victoria, you do realise that I want you, too, yeah?” You run your thumb over her knuckles. “I wouldn’t have come here otherwise. I wanted so badly for things to fall into place, you know. But about two weeks ago someone told me that confidence is key, and that I’d learn that if I stuck around. And now, I’ve stuck around, and I’m going to use the late night endorphins as confidence and make sure everything falls into place.”

She’s confused, you see it etched into her face, so you run your hands up her arms, rest them on the back of her neck, thumbs pressing at the corner of her jaw – and pull her in.

She’s still for a moment, shocked and all kinds of nervous before she charges forward. Her hands are on your hips and she’s pressing you against the closed door of her dorm and the wood is cold against your skin but she is so warm and so soft.

She kisses you like your stained glass waiting to be shattered, like you’re a hymn that only angels can sing and god if you could rewrite your bucket list as a child you would definitely put this at the top of the list.

Her hands are slow and her tongue grazes against the seam of your lips and the chorus of the song breaks down in your ears and all you can hear is the thudding of your heart and the hammering of your pulse.

You realise that this is slow, this isn’t rushed, its puzzle pieces coming together, its taking your time to wait for the perfect photo op.

Victoria Chase is better than a camera, better than the click of a shutter, better than watching a Polaroid come to life as you shake it in the air.

Victoria Chase is better than photography and you want to tell her that but you think right now you can settle for the lyrics playing in the distance and Victoria breathing you in like air.

 

 

 


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